


ghost story

by orphan_account



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, My First Work in This Fandom, cis girls au, cos shes a fuckin ghost, ghost au, mentions of other queens, small town american lesbians, so dont worry, the major character death is pearl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:18:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Trixie Mattel believes in a lot of stupid things, but ghosts are where she draws the line.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t really know where this came from, but i’ve been in love with the idea of a ghost au for these characters (because their personas are characters) forever.

“WAKEY WAKEY,” Katya yells, and it’s enough to pull Trixie out of the last waves of sleep that she’d been hoping to ride. She doesn’t get more than six hours of sleep most nights; it’s hard balancing a job and summer clubs and a social life without trying to actually keep herself in half-decent shape. Trixie almost can’t wait for senior year to start already. _Almost_. “It’s me, and if you’re not up in ten minutes I’ll call Bianca on you.”  
As if that’s a threat. Bianca Del Rio is two years older than them, graduated the year before, and spends her time when she’s not away at college making sure Adore Delano doesn’t break her neck, or something in that vein. She doesn’t have the time to harass Trixie and Katya, between that and preparing her thesis. Trixie almost misses it. Now that Adore’s just graduated and secured a place at the best music school in the country, Bianca probably won’t be coming back to Bramley Falls anymore, unless it’s to revisit her childhood. But can Trixie blame her? Bramley Falls is a place of a type not too commonly found; a town that will be forgotten by history. Either you escape it early, or you rot there.

Nobody ever moves to Bramley Falls on purpose, except Trixie’s family, five years ago.

They were escaping the past, her mother had told her, because in towns like Bramley Falls, all newcomers had a fresh start better than anywhere else. Nobody wants to die in a dying town, and certainly nobody chooses to go there. Small towns are safe.

And they’re insurmountably _boring_ , Trixie thinks as she blinks up at her best friend.

Yekatarina Petrovna Zamolodchikova isn’t even a real Russian, or so she tells everyone who bothers to ask. Her parents are ethnically Russian, sure, but they don’t speak a lick of their mother tongue, nor do have an accent. Katya is about as versed in Russian culture as Trixie is, which is, admittedly, not a lot.  
“I’m up, I’m up,” Trixie groans, and Katya rolls her eyes. She’s lean and muscular whereas Trixie’s rounded and curvy - they’re opposites that way. Katya’s jersey dress is patterned with...eyeballs? Yep, those are eyeballs. It’s not even the weirdest thing she’s ever worn, and at least her hair looks vaguely normal. “How did you even get in, anyway?”  
“The window,” Katya intones cheerfully, which isn’t all that hard to believe; she took martial arts as a kid, and then gymnastics and yoga. Last summer, she even part-timed at the fitness studio a couple of miles out of town, but it bored her. “Kidding. Mila let me in.”  
“You don’t _have_ to call my mother by her first name,” Trixie points out, and Katya cocks her head.  
“Huh. You’re right. But I choose to,” she grins, and throws a summer dress at Trixie. “Come on, my dearest Tracy. We’re going on an adventure.”

Trixie dresses quickly - she’s not self-conscious, not in front of Katya, who she’s physically pulled tampons out of - and doesn’t even have time to consider putting on makeup before she’s dragged out the door and into Katya’s sports car.

Katya’s parents aren’t rich. Well-off enough to send Katya to an all-girls Catholic academy throughout elementary and the beginning of middle school, sure, but not loaded. But when Katya finally grew tired of chanting psalms and learning the rosary, that spare money went two places: Katya’s college fund, and her car fund.  
“They just don’t want me going to community college,” Katya told her once, and though Trixie had laughed at the time, she supposes that it’s true.

“Where are we going?” Trixie asks, trying not to stare at the definition of Katya’s thighs through her maxi-dress. It’s a struggle. Trixie’s kind of sort of aware of the fact that she may possibly be crushing on her best friend a little, has been for a few months now, but she refuses to act on it. It’s probably a matter of being so close to adulthood and the fact that she’s still a virgin combining to project itself onto the closest person to her both geographically and emotionally, so she’s just waiting for it to pass. “If you’re finally making good on that promise of stabbing me with a rake because I wouldn’t give in to your Jodie Foster obsession, you could’ve just told me.”  
“First of all,” she protests. “It was not an obsession, it was an _appreciation_. Second of all, that’s not what’s happening. And third of all, I definitely will stab you with a rake at some point, so I’m glad you remembered.”

They settle into easy silence after that, but Trixie spends the whole car journey trying not to stare too much at Katya. Katya, her best friend, who dragged Trixie along with her to get her first tattoo, just so she could hold Trixie’s hand. Katya, who she’s shared ice cream and clothes and makeup with, Katya who she’s seen naked at least twice, Katya who sometimes kisses her right on the mouth just to get red lipstick on her lips and annoy her. This Katya. Trixie can imagine it, can imagine them turning into something more than just friends, can imagine something after this.

But imagination is not suitable for a place like Bramley Falls, especially not when Trixie’s so close to getting free. She has to believe that she will make it out, somehow, the way Bianca and Adore have. The way Katya inevitably will. And maybe if there is a future for people like Katya and Trixie, it has to come from beyond this little town.  
“Trixie!” Katya calls, and Trixie jumps out of her reverie to see that they’ve arrived at...well, it’s not exactly obvious what it is. There’s trees everywhere, and a few ramshackled cottages and a well, but it’s otherwise derelict.  
“Where are we?” she asks and Katya grins, a little shyer than usual. Which is weird, because Katya is many things - a bundle of nervous energy, eclectic, _gorgeous_ \- but shy has never been one of them.  
“I found it yesterday,” she explains, getting out of the car and walking over to the well. It’s dried up, Trixie can see that from where she’s still sat in the passenger seat, but the way Katya looks at it makes her believe that it could drip liquid gold if only she asked. Katya has a way of doing that. It’s a dangerous talent to have in a town like this one. Trixie gets out of the car too, and follows her. “A girl died here.”  
“She _died_?” Trixie repeats, incredulous. “How? There’s no bears or anything in this part of the country, and it looks like there were other people here.”  
“She jumped into the well,” Katya whispers, tracing the lip of it with her fingertips. “She was our age. They found her body, and the whole village packed up and moved into Bramley Falls.”  
“That’s creepy,” Trixie says, but she’s looking into the well too, at the place where some teenager leapt to her death. Trixie never knew her father; he killed himself before she was born. Is this what lead him to end his life? The intoxication of being so close to the veil between this world and the next? Because that is what Trixie feels when she looks down in that empty well, Katya stood next to her, the pair of them breathing in sync.  
“It’s sad,” Katya finally says. “They were all so ashamed of her suicide that they never gave her a proper burial and funeral. She’s stuck here.”  
“You don’t believe in ghosts,” Trixie reminds her, but Katya doesn’t say anything.  
Trixie steps away from the well, and drags Katya with her. “How do you know all this?” she asks. “I thought you said you only found this place yesterday.”  
“I-“ Katya frowns, furrows her brow. “I’m not sure. I just knew it, Trix. Like it was calling to me. Is that weird?”  
“ _Yes_ ,” Trixie says firmly. “And we are leaving, before you start freaking me out even more.”  
Katya nods, and they both get back in the car in utter silence. This time, it’s not the comfortable kind.

There’s probably - no, definitely - a logical explanation for all of this. Katya likes reading conspiracy theories and urban legends; it’s entirely possible that she just picked one up unconsciously and felt like it fit with this place. Or maybe this is an elaborate prank. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? The more she thinks about it, the more Trixie calms down. Trixie Mattel believes in a lot  
of stupid things, but ghosts are where she draws the line.

Katya pulls up outside Trixie’s house, but grabs her hand to stop her from leaving straight away.  
“Hey,” she says softly. “You’re my _best friend_ , you know that, right? I wouldn’t share this with anyone else. Nothing you ever do or say will change how I feel about you. You don’t have to look so worried.”  
“Yeah,” Trixie echoes. “I know.”

_But it still hurts._

She waves goodbye, and goes inside.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Katya’s not on drugs,” she says instead, and something in Bianca softens, her edges blurred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i spent nye writing this. content warning for mention of drugs.

WHEN TRIXIE WAKES up the next morning, she’s cold. Which doesn’t seem all that off, sure, but Trixie is _never_ cold. In fact, the only person who sweats more than her is fucking _Katya_.

She shouldn’t really thinking about Katya.

Perhaps that’s why it takes her so long to notice the teenage girl stood over her, then.  
“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Trixie whispers. “I need to get more sleep.”  
The girl cocks her head. She’s pretty, some part of Trixie acknowledges, but she’s soaking wet, her curly blonde hair plastered to her head and her eyelashes thick with water droplets. Her eyebrows are barely visible, and her lips are red as cherries, and Trixie thinks her subconscious has pretty good taste.  
“Do you have a towel?” the girl asks, and Trixie jumps. Alright, so maybe her brain was capable of conjuring up visual hallucinations, but audio ones? After this, she’s going to see a doctor. Maybe all the weed she’s been passively inhaling from Katya has caught up with her somehow.   
“Uh, sure,” Trixie says, because it’s probably best to play along, right? When this... _thing_ , whoever she is, walks out of the door, her mind will accept that she’s gone and that it was all just a dream. Easy. “Just down the hall.”  
“Thanks,” she replies, and she turns away, walks out and clatters down the corridor. Trixie closes her eyes, and goes back to sleep.

*

The next time Trixie wakes up, it’s noon. Sunlight streams in through the windows, and she’s probably missed her guitar lesson, but it doesn’t matter. She’s still unnerved from the strange dream from earlier.

This is what she gets, she supposes, for hanging out with Katya.  
“Trixie!” her mother calls, and she rubs the sleep out of her eyes. Trixie looks wrecked; her hair’s a mess and her skin dull. Perhaps her body just doesn’t know how to cope with getting a great amount of sleep, which is depressing, but probably true. “Bianca’s here!”  
Her mother likes Bianca - loves her, even. Bianca is sensible and intelligent and funny, the pride of the whole town, pretty much. But although she likes Trixie well enough, there’s no reason for her to be here, not when this is Adore’s last summer in Bramley Falls.  
“Coming!” Trixie replies, buttoning up a polo shirt and throwing on a miniskirt. She rushes down the stairs, and is greeted with the rare sight of Bianca Del Rio looking serious, her eyebrow-grazing bangs and severe auburn ponytail doing nothing to soften it.

Trixie has a bad feeling about what’s about to ensue.  
“Thanks for the water, Ms Mattel,” Bianca says when she notices Trixie’s arrival. “Trixie, let’s go for a walk.”  
They link arms, and Trixie notices that Bianca’s fingers are shaking as they walk out the front door and into the street. The moment they’re out of sight, however, Bianca spins her around and grabs her wrists.  
“I’m only gonna ask you this once, and be honest,” she says, voice gravelly. This is Bianca in full damage-control mode; Trixie’s seen her like this with Adore, but never with her. “Is Katya taking drugs?”  
Trixie blinks, aghast. “You mean, like, hard drugs?”  
“She went out with Adore last night,” Bianca hastens to explain, and something in Trixie clenches. She’s being stupid, she knows - Katya’s always been closer with Adore than Trixie has, they went to the same summer camp in middle school - but it hurts a little that she didn’t know. “I got a text this morning from Adore, and she’s convinced Katya’s on something. Apparently, she was babbling on about seeing some girl covered in water, but Adore didn’t see anybody. Adore ended up having to take her home, and if Adore’s being responsible, she must’ve been really out of it.”  
Trixie almost wants to tell Bianca that she just saw the same thing this morning. Bianca is two years older, two years wiser, and she knows that if she confided in her, she wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s what makes her a valuable asset in a town like this; Bianca doesn’t care much for gossip. And it’s tempting, it really is, because Trixie doesn’t have many friends aside from Katya and Kim and possibly Adore, and Adore has always been more of Katya’s friend anyway.

She wants to tell Bianca, but something in her stops her, and she _can’t_.

“Katya’s not on drugs,” she says instead, and something in Bianca softens, her edges blurred. “I swear, if she is she hasn’t told me. You know how she is, she probably just let her drink get to her head again.”  
It’s a lie. Katya doesn’t drink, and when she does, she holds her liquor like a champ. Bianca knows this, too. But she takes the lie Trixie gives her, tucks it away like it’s real. Like it’s _important_. Trixie wants to cry, she truly does; all of this is too much, Katya is too much, the girl she saw this morning is too much. Instead, she straightens her spine, tries to keep eye contact. Bianca looks...not sad, but a cousin of it. Melancholy. She squeezes Trixie’s hands, and nods.  
“Okay,” she says. “I believe you. If you say she’s not on drugs, then she’s not on drugs. Oh, and Trixie?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I’m not _just_ Adore’s friend, you know,” Bianca says softly. “You can call me anytime you want.”

She gives Trixie’s hands one last squeeze, and walks away. Her head is spinning. This isn’t what she expected for this summer, not at all; this isn’t what happens in towns like this, towns that are so small their graduating classes are under fifty. Stories like this don’t happen to people like her. They happen to girls like Adore, like Katya, like Kim. But who is Trixie, really, though? She doesn’t know the answer, and it kind of scares her.

Her nails dig into her palms so far and hard that she thinks she might’ve broken skin. But she breathes in, and watches Bianca disappear down the street, and forces herself to _calm the fuck down_.

*

“How’s Bianca?” her mother asks, when she returns ten minutes later. Her heart is still thudding a little, but it’s okay. Honestly, she’s just being overdramatic. “What did she want to talk about?”  
“She’s great,” Trixie says, trying not to make eye contact. She’s awful at lying, and she’d rather not tell her mom that the most successful kid in town thinks her best friend’s on drugs. “And, uh, college applications. She said she’d help me.”  
Her mother smiles, pacified, and Trixie feels guilty. It’s not like she was doing anything bad, but still. Lying to your parents is objectively shameful. She excuses herself from the kitchen, and rushes upstairs.

The girl from earlier is stood there, dripping water all over her bedroom carpet. Except she’s not making it wet; it drips and splatters without a stain. Trixie’s breathing falters, and she looks up.  
“Finally,” the girl drawls. Trixie didn’t notice before, but her head is at a slightly odd angle, like her neck is all twisted. “I tried talking to your friend, but she’s boring.”  
Despite the utter absurdity of the situation, Trixie bristles at that. Katya is not _boring_ , she is wonderful and hilarious and-  
She digresses.  
“Who are you?” she hisses, trying not to let fear creep into her voice. “How did you get into my house?”  
“I’m Pearl,” she replies, walking over and perching on the edge of Trixie’s bed. “And I think it’s pretty obvious. I’m dead.”

Trixie screams. She screams and screams and screams until she can’t anymore, until Pearl finally glances up from her fingernails. Now that Trixie can see her in regular daylight, she looks unnervingly normal. Like one of Violet Chachki’s crowd, the most popular girl in her grade. But she’s a ghost, and she’s in Trixie’s _home_ , in her _bedroom_ , and this isn’t right, not at all.  
“Trixie!” her mother gasps, running up the stairs and frowning. “What’s wrong with you?”  
Pearl is still sitting on her bed, but Mila’s eyes slide right past her, solely fixed on her daughter. _She can’t see her_ , some part of Trixie’s brain tells her instinctively, and she wonders how the hell she’s supposed to explain away this one.  
“I-I saw a spider,” she says feebly, and her mom sighs, crosses her arms in exasperation. “Sorry. You know I hate them.”  
“Well, that was ridiculous,” her mother huffs. “I thought somebody was being murdered in here. You’re too old to be scared of spiders.”  
She walks away, shutting the door behind her, and Pearl raises an eyebrow.   
“Murdered,” she drags the word out, and Trixie wants to hit her. Can you hit ghosts? Probably not, but she’s suddenly tempted to try, because this girl is infuriating.  
“Shut up,” she mutters, and Pearl grins nastily.

There’s no logical explanation for this that doesn’t involve Trixie being utterly insane, and she’s far too self-assured to accept one of those. From what she’s heard, ghosts usually have unfinished business. Maybe if she finds out what Pearl’s is, she’ll go away.

As if she can hear her thoughts, Pearl sobers up.  
“I don’t know why I’m here, either,” she says simply. “And I don’t know how to leave. So I’m stuck with you.”

 _Great_. 


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t like being reminded, so I stuck with you.”  
> “Reminded that you’re dead,” Trixie says harshly, and Pearl shrugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kids. i dont write multichap, ever, so sorry for the double update but i’m writing whenever the lordt allows me. i think i know how and when this story will end, at least, so that’s a start.

A few days pass. Pearl doesn’t leave Trixie’s bedroom, which is a good thing; she’s easily ignored, easily escaped. Trixie fills her days with Katya, with Bianca and Adore, with Kim if she can find her. Kim has other friends these days; Naomi and Milk and Sasha. It’s sad, to see her oldest friend drifting away, but maybe that’s just how it goes. But every action has its equal opposite reaction - she is getting to know Adore, and Adore is funny and different, and she wonders why she didn’t hang out with her before. Her and Bianca are so _cool_ , and it’s easy to forget about the dead girl in her house when she’s got friends like this.

Unfortunately, it’s not so easy to forget about her crush.

How long has she liked Katya? She’d like to think that it’s only been a couple of months, but if she’s brutally honest, it’s probably a year or more. Nobody knows, and maybe that’s why it hurts so much. There’s not someone to help her figure it out, to give her advice, to tell her what to say. If there was, it’d be _Katya_ , and that’s obviously not possible.

As angsty as it sounds, it’s a worse problem than the ghost that’s haunting her. At least Pearl can be ignored peacefully. Katya can’t. Not that she’d want to, anyway. They are best friends, after all, and as much as that hurts, it’d hurt more if they weren’t. This way, she gets a small glimpse into Katya’s life, into her mind. She’s too selfish to give it up.  
“Hey,” Pearl says one day, out of nowhere. The dripping water has slowed a little, which means she’s in a good mood. It’s disturbing how Trixie knows that already. “Are you dating that blonde girl?”  
Trixie’s heart hammers. “What?”  
“I’m not judging,” Pearl shrugs, propping her chin up on her hands. It makes her head seem more lopsided than usual, and Trixie represses a shudder. “But you kind of act like a couple.”  
“You can’t leave this house,” Trixie whispers, ice sludging through her veins. “You told me that now you’re back in this world, you can’t leave.”  
“I said I can’t leave the dwelling of the people I haunt,” Pearl corrects, as if Trixie’s being slow. “You’re smart, right? Haven’t you figured it out yet?”  
“You’re the girl from the well,” Trixie realises. “The one who killed herself. That’s how you found us. You’re haunting her, too.”  
“Yes and no,” Pearl sighs. “Yes, as in that’s who I am. No, as in I’m not haunting her. Not like I am you, anyway. She fainted when she saw me, and I don’t like being reminded, so I decided to stick with you.”  
“Reminded that you’re dead,” Trixie says harshly, and Pearl shrugs.  
“Reminded that I don’t look how I used to,” she admits. “I was pretty, you know. Boys liked me. I wasn’t very interesting, but they didn’t care. And now I have a broken neck and an eternal stream of water that comes from nowhere. I don’t regret dying, but it’s not fun.”

Trixie can imagine it. Pearl’s very beautiful, even now, but it’s easy to tell that she’s a shade of what she once was. If her hair was dry, if her head was correctly positioned, if she was wearing something other than a filthy white dress...she’d be damn irresistible. It’s almost enough to make Trixie feel sorry for her. Pearl wanted to die, but she’s back and doesn’t even look like she used to. Jarring, for anyone, especially someone who was so used to being fawned over.

But it’s not enough. Trixie doesn’t particularly like Pearl, or want her to stick around. Who care if she’s annoyed by the fact that she’s not pretty anymore? She’s dead. She shouldn’t be conscious in the first place.

“Well, to answer your question, Katya and I aren’t dating,” Trixie mutters, scowling. Pearl yawns.  
“But you wish you were, don’t you?” she says, a rhetorical question, and Trixie doesn’t answer. Is she that transparent? The thought sickens her. If Katya knew-  
“She doesn’t even like girls,” Trixie says, as if that’ll close off the conversation. “I’m not stupid. I’ll get over it.”  
“And you’re _sure_ about that,” Pearl snorts, letting her hands rest in her lap. She’s sitting on Trixie’s futon, but she doesn’t remember Pearl ever moving. Maybe it’s a ghost thing. “I’ve seen her when she’s alone, and-“  
“ _Stop_ ,” Trixie half-yells. “I don’t want to know. That’s a gross invasion of privacy.”  
“Only trying to help,” Pearl shrugs, and then she sort of fades away, until there’s nothing left. Trixie supposes that now she doesn’t have the fun of acting like she never leaves, Pearl’s going to do whatever she wants. Up to and including spying on Katya.

Fine. That’s her own business. And if Trixie spends the rest of the night wondering what Pearl was going to tell her despite herself, then that’s her own business, too.

*

“Hey, Adore, can I, uh, ask you something?” Trixie asks, one week later. Pearl is still haunting her, if haunting involves trying to flick water at her that can’t land, or making various comments about her wardrobe. She’s slowly growing on Trixie, though she won’t admit it. Like a rash, some part of her decides, and she represses a laugh at the thought.  
“Sure,” Adore says, not turning around from her position in front of the fridge. She’s looking for something to make a cocktail with, even though they already have beer. Adore’s like that. “If you need Planned Parenthood, Bianca can drive you.”  
“Uh, no thanks,” Trixie says definitively, watching Adore pull out a carton of coconut milk and squinting. “Actually, I was wondering if Katya’s gay.”  
Adore pauses, puts the coconut milk on the counter and makes eye contact. She crosses her arms over the oversized thrasher shirt she’s wearing, narrows kohl-rimmed eyes. “Who told you?”  
“No-one!” she blurts out, because it’s true - she stopped Pearl before she could technically confirm anything, although the implication had been clear. But Trixie has some self-respect. Somehow, it’s different getting an answer from Adore, who will know because she’s been told, not because she a fucking ghost with no life of her own. “It’s just, well, I’ve kind of been questioning my own sexuality, so, like-“  
“Oh my god,” Adore grins, wide and innocent. Trixie never understood why Bianca treats Adore like a younger sibling before, but now she gets it. Anyone who can look that naïve probably needs someone like Bianca to look out for them. “You like Katya!”  
“I-“ Trixie stammers, aware that she’s turning as pink as her shift dress. “Um.”  
“That’s adorable,” Adore lights up, and then claps her hands together devilishly. “And Bianca owes me ten bucks. Fuckin’ party.”  
“You were taking bets?” Trixie finally finds her tongue, and Adore cackles.  
“Bitch, we were taking bets on _when_ you’d confess not if,” she corrects. “Bianca’s, like, secretly a sweetheart, so she had more faith in you. But I’m a cunt, so now I’m ten dollars richer.”  
“Right,” Trixie says, eager to cut to the chase. “You didn’t answer my original question, though. Do I stand even a remote chance?”

Adore blinks, and then bends over laughing, because this is apparently funny. Trixie’s heart is doing backflips and somersaults and all the athletic shit that Katya knows how to perform, because of course it all leads back to _Katya, Katya, Katya_. That’s all she ever seems to do.

Because she is in love with Katya. Trixie Mattel stands on Adore Delano’s linoleum kitchen floor and it’s simple: she doesn’t just like Katya Zamolodchikova, she loves her.

She’s fucked, and Adore is _laughing_. Now there’s divine injustice.

“Bitch, I can’t believe you didn’t read between the lines there, but yes,” Adore says, sobered up at last. “Katya’s a massive lesbian.”  
And relief is blowing through her, flooding her body, because for the first time in a year there’s some kind of realism to her fantasy. There is a tiny chance that Katya may love her back, and Trixie’s so happy she could die. Except, except, _except_ -  
“We’re best friends,” she rushes out. “Why didn’t she tell me?”  
Adore looks almost shocked, as if the whole world is in on a joke apart from Trixie. Spitefully, Trixie wonders how Adore would react if she knew about Pearl. There are things that are more obvious to some than others, and it’s not Trixie’s fault if Katya’s reason for not telling her is one of them.  
“Trixie, honey, she thought- she still thinks you’re straight,” Adore explains, like she’s talking to a child. “Like, I knew you weren’t because I’m a fucking Libra, we know these things, but Katya didn’t believe me. Some bullshit about how her gaydar would’ve told her. Honestly, I was kind of offended that-“  
Trixie pulls Adore out of her tangent with a click of her fingers. God, is this what Bianca has to do? No wonder she doesn’t have much free time. Adore’s great, but also exhausting. “Adore, back to the subject?”  
“Oh, yeah!” the older girl exclaims, shoving her hands into the pockets of her faded denim cutoffs. Considering how fresh-faced she is naturally, her outfit choices are the polar opposite. “You were, like, her first crush.”  
“ _Were_ ,” Trixie echoes, and panic flashes over Adore’s features.  
“Sorry! I’m not fucking good at explaining this shit,” she babbles. “Trixie, she still likes you. She just won’t listen to me and Bianca, even though Bianca’s an ivy league girl. She goes to fucking Princeton.”

And Pearl knew this?

 _Fuck_.


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is horrifying, it is tragic, it is heartbreaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for blood and suicide mentions? lots of death talk. i mean, pearl is a ghost, but. just in case.   
> sorry this is so dialogue dense, but this really took a diff shape than i was expecting. whoops.

Trixie is fucked, and not in a good way.

She likes Katya. No, _loves_ Katya. And Katya feels the same way. This should be easy, except it’s really not, and how the _fuck_ is she supposed to act on this?

After Adore Delano dropped that small bombshell, and eventually made a concoction that bore a vague similarity to a piña colada, Trixie swore her to secrecy. She couldn’t even tell Bianca about Trixie’s crush, not until Trixie told Katya first. That had been two days ago, and she’s still acting normal. Like her and her best friend aren’t harbouring romantic feelings towards one another, like there isn’t a ghost only they can see but haven’t talked about, like this summer is probably the last they’ll have with Bianca and Adore before they leave for good.

Speaking of ghosts, Pearl is becoming less and less annoying. Often, she sits on Trixie’s windowsill with her fingers to the glass, staring out at a world she left behind many years ago. She won’t tell Trixie exactly when she died, but Trixie figures things out through unconscious tells; the way Pearl found her smartphone weird, how she hasn’t heard of any of the music Trixie likes, and Trixie likes some old shit, even down to the way her forever-smeared makeup looks. Pearl’s been dead at least twenty years - before Trixie moved to Bramley falls. Without this happening, she never would’ve known her. Whether that’s a good or bad thing - she’ll see. But she has to admit: she doesn’t hate Pearl. Sometimes it’s nice, not to be so alone. Of course, Trixie does have to wonder whether or not she’s gone mad, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Pearl can’t hurt anyone. She’s dead.

Trixie and Katya make plans - real plans - for the first time in forever, and Katya picks her up one warm morning when the sun’s low in the sky and the leather seats in her car aren’t completely unbearable to sit on yet. This is why she’s so hesitant to make a move, she remembers, because she likes sitting in the front seat without having to say a word, likes listening to Katya’s shitty electro-pop music, likes feeling a little more at peace in the world when it’s just then. What if she ruins this all? So she sits through coffee, tries not to blurt it all out even though she knows Katya knows that something’s up.

She will tell her. She _will_. Just maybe not today.

Katya drops her back off home, looking distracted, and Pearl is waiting for her in the bedroom.  
“You’re lucky,” Trixie says, by way of greeting. “You don’t have to deal with this romance stuff.” Pearl is stood with her back to Trixie, but she doesn’t think much of it, until she turns around.

Pearl is bleeding from her nose and mouth.  
“ _Help me_ ,” she pleads, trying to stem the flow. “I’m not meant to be here. I need to go back.”  
“You said there wasn’t anything you’d left undone in this world,” Trixie whispers. “You _told_ me that there was no reason for you to leave, and you didn’t know how to. Pearl, why did you kill yourself?”  
Pearl, who is still soaking wet from water of the well she jumped into all those years ago, who choking on her own blood, begins to cry. Her sobs are silent, and she staggers backwards, onto Trixie’s bed. It is horrifying, it is tragic, it is heartbreaking. She doesn’t know what to do or what to say, so she just watches.  
“I-“ Pearl catches her breath, and Trixie curses herself for being so stupid. Of course ghosts aren’t meant to stay. She’s been so consumed with the living that she forgot about the dead. “What you have to understand is that I was _trapped_. My parents wanted me to marry.”  
“You’re seventeen,” Trixie says, dumbfounded. “I don’t understand.”  
“I died fifty years ago,” Pearl shrugs. “It was raining after months of drought. The well was full, and I was so tired. I was _so tired_ , Trixie. And I could see, in that moment, what was going to happen to me if I didn’t jump. I’d drop out of high school and marry a man I barely knew, because that was what I was expected to do. I stood by that well, and I let the rain ruin my good dress, and I jumped, because my life was already _over_.”  
The blood flow stops. Pearl’s hands are still shaking, and she’s still crying, but she’s calmer. Stiller. “You don’t know what it’s like,” Pearl murmurs. “What it’s like to make that jump, and _feel_ , and wake up again and everything’s changed and it all still hurts.”  
“Hey,” Trixie says. She wants to reach out, to touch her, but she’s scared what will happen if she does. The thing is, she doesn’t know what it’s like to be Pearl. What is she supposed to say? “What do you think’s keeping you here?”  
Pearl laces her fingers together, stained with blood splotches that looked like cherries, and chews on her lip thoughtfully. “My body,” she says at last, voice breathless. “They never buried my body. Maybe that’s what’s keeping me here. They were all so ashamed.”  
“Where is it, then?” Trixie asks, emboldened. “I’ll find it, I’m sure the city council would pay for your burial if you don’t have any surviving family-“  
“I don’t know where my body is,” Pearl interrupts. “Trixie, when you die, you’re not conscious. You know when your body is moved, but you don’t know how, or where. I could be anyway. I could still be in the well.”  
“You’re not in the well,” Trixie tells her. “Me and Katya saw. That thing’s been dried up for decades. But we’ll find your body. I promise.”

“Thanks,” Pearl says, sounding choked up, and it’s such a sincere word that Trixie thinks she might cry, too.

*

“You’ve lived in this town all your life,” Trixie says to Bianca, who’s rifling through a rack of dresses with a frown. She’s dyed her hair back to its usual caramel brown, and it’s swept up so high behind her head that it looks like its defying gravity through sheer willpower alone. It wouldn’t surprise her if it is; this is Bianca, after all. “What happens to people who can’t afford burials?”  
“Who’d you murder?” Bianca snorts, before pulling out a blue boat-necked gown. “What do you think about this?”  
“You own, like, five of that dress but in different colours,” Trixie points out, and Bianca shoots her a look. “And I didn’t murder anyone. I’m just asking.”  
“God, what is up with you kids?” Bianca questions, shoving the dress back on the rack and crossing her arms. “Between you and Katya’s mood swings, I’m beginning to feel like a bitter old woman.”  
“You’re about to start sophomore year in college, you _are_ a bitter old woman,” Trixie mutters, leaning against the wall of the store they’re in. “But seriously, Bianca, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”  
“Okay, I’ll bite,” she sighs, turning to look at Trixie. “Usually the church pays, if there’s no surviving family. But they don’t have to. I don’t know what happens then. It’s a small town; everyone knows each other. Am I allowed to ask why you need to know this?”  
“Katya’s on one of her conspiracy theory kicks again,” Trixie fibs, and Bianca looks down at her, unimpressed. “She’s convinced that the state does something with the bodies of people who have no funerals.”  
“Sounds _really_ important,” Bianca hums derisively, turning back to the dress rack. “Speaking of Katya, are you two...okay?”

Trixie’s breath catches. This is getting ridiculous, all this miscommunication - if they were characters in a book, she would’ve slapped them both. But it’s different, she supposes, when it’s actually happening. And she will confess to Katya, she promised both herself and Adore that she would, but even she can recognise that finding Pearl’s body will take priority.  
“We’re fine,” she tells Bianca, and Bianca doesn’t respond. “We’ve just been busy.”  
“You know, Trixie, I haven’t said anything because a year at college taught me to shut my mouth a little, but I’m just gonna come out with it,” Bianca announces, refusing to look at her. “I think you’re a good kid. I think you’re scared, and I get that. But you and Katya need to have a good long talk, a serious one, before one of you gets hurt.”

She’s right. Trixie doesn’t say anything - because what can she say? Bianca is voicing what she already knows.

“That’s all I’m gonna say,” Bianca shrugs, before finally walking away from the dress rack for good. “Anyway. You’re right. I own all these dresses. Wanna get pizza?”

*

“Pearl?” Trixie calls, when she gets back from the mall. Nobody’s there. She’s not worried - she’s probably gone to spy on Katya.

But then Pearl isn’t there the next night.

Or the next.

And just as Trixie begins to worry, she gets a text from Katya.

**We need to talk.**


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her heart pounds in her chest, an instrument of its own, and Trixie doesn’t know what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i know, with every update i increase the length of this fic. whatever. i ended up rewriting a massive portion of this chapter last minute because i wanted to give you more content, so shut up and take it.

The very next day, Trixie walks down to Katya’s house.

She’s always liked it here. Mr and Mrs Zamolodchikova have always been good to her, even when her and Katya have had one of their rare arguments. Still, there’s a creeping sense of unease in the pit of her stomach as she knocks on the door, as Mrs Zamolodchikova lets her in with a smile and a hug.  
“Yekatarina!” she calls, which she only ever does when Trixie’s around. “Trixie’s here!”  
“Tell her to come up!” Katya hollers back, and Mrs Zamolodchikova pinches Trixie’s cheeks and sends upstairs. For some reason, Trixie takes her time; she pauses to look at the photographs of Katya as a child, with her older siblings, with Trixie. _Everything is about to change_ , something inside tells her, so she tries not to cry and forces herself to round the corner and enter Katya’s room.

Of course, before anything, her vision zooms in on Katya.

She’s wearing a vest and boyshorts that show off her long, taut legs and tight ass, and Trixie forces herself to look at her best friend’s face. Katya looks tired, her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, and her face is devoid of makeup. She seems both older and younger than her actual age, and Trixie’s mouth goes dry.  
“Oh, hi,” someone says, but it’s not either of them; it’s Pearl, perched on Katya’s desk and looking near-angelic in the sunlight. The irony doesn’t fail to strike Trixie, and she simply purses her lips in response. “Sorry to have left without telling you. I decided that it’s just really not fair to let you hog me to yourself, so I just went ahead and filled Katya in.”  
Trixie doesn’t say anything, and neither does Katya. They stare at each other, robbed of words and breath, until Katya finally looks at Pearl and says, “Can you give us a minute?”  
Pearl breaks into a smile - which reveals the various bloodstains on her lips - and rubs her hands together. “Of course,” she purrs, and fades away, assumedly to go hang around in Trixie’s bedroom instead.  
“Hey,” Trixie says awkwardly, and Katya makes eye contact. She’s maybe two inches shorter than Trixie - when did that happen? - and her biceps are prominent, and-  
“Remember when I went to summer camp at the end of freshman year?” Katya asks, and it’s so random that it throws Trixie for a second. “Adore was too old to go, and my parents wanted me to say goodbye to the counsellors for the last time.”  
“I remember,” Trixie says slowly, confused. “You ran to my house and ranted for ten minutes straight in tears, and my mom ordered us a pizza and let you stay over because you were dreading going so much.”  
“Exactly,” Katya nods. “And do you remember how we stayed awake until four a.m and watched Twilight twice because you wanted to count how many sparkles there were on Edward’s chest?”  
“I got to a thousand and gave up,” Trixie grins, reminiscing. “You told me to google it, but I was pretty much delirious at that point, and I pushed you off my bed.”  
“Yeah,” Katya murmurs, and looks down at her feet awkwardly. “You know, I remember that night for one specific reason, Trixie, because that was the night I realised I was in love with you.”

Trixie doesn’t know why this is surprising. Adore told her that Katya liked her less than two weeks ago, Pearl has remarked on it many a time, and she supposes that there were probably some signs that she missed somehow. But somehow, being told specifically a date and a memory makes it fresher, makes it newer. Her heart pounds in her chest, an instrument of its own, and Trixie doesn’t know what to say. How do you react to your best friend, your _crush_ telling you that she loves you to your face? She’s not sure. She’s not sure of anything, anymore.

“When I went to camp,” Katya continues, clearing her throat when it becomes obvious Trixie isn’t up to responding at the moment. “I hooked up with this girl. Lilith. She kind of looked like you, actually. Everytime I kissed her, I thought of you, Trixie. At the end of summer, she gave me her number, and I never texted her, because it was you I liked, not her. There were girls after her, Trix, but you know why she stood out for me? Because she was the first girl who I specifically picked just because she had a passing resemblance to you. And yeah, maybe that’s fucked up. But what’s fucked up is that I’ve been in love with you for two years, and you haven’t noticed. This whole...Pearl thing put it into perspective. Life is so short, so fast. It’s worth making the most of,” her chest heaves. “And I knew if I didn’t tell you now, I never would.”

They don’t say anything, either of them, and Katya looks up. Trixie’s heart is breaking, for some odd reason, and when Katya speaks, her voice is thick with tears.  
“Say something, then,” she begs quietly, except Trixie doesn’t know what to say.

“Katya, I-” Trixie begins, quiet and hesitant, and it sounds so insignificant yet so powerful at the same time. Katya already looks resigned to rejection, and Trixie wants to reach out, wants to explain in a way that makes sense, but she’s never been all that good with words. “I think I’m in love with you, too.”  
Katya’s eyes widen immensely, and where is Trixie going to go with this, exactly? She’s not sure, but she’s already started, and she might as well finish to the best of her ability. “For a while, I just thought that it was a hormones thing. That us being so close and me being so - how do I put it? - _inexperienced_ made me attracted to you. And the thing is, I was so convinced that that was all it was that I didn’t let myself consider any other option. But I talked to Adore, to Bianca, and I didn’t even _mention_ you, but it was like they already knew before I did. And I figured it out. I just - everything is changing so _fast_. We graduate next year, our friends are leaving, there’s a fucking ghost haunting us, and we haven’t talked about it, about _any_ of it. And...that’s probably my fault. I guess what I’m trying to do is apologise for pulling away because I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle my feelings, so I ignored them. “  
“Trixie,” Katya interrupts, and Trixie blinks.  
“What?”  
“Shut up,” she whispers, and she then kisses her.

Trixie and Katya have kissed before - on the mouth, even - but not like this. This is different, somehow, even though Katya still tastes vaguely of cigarettes, even though they’re barely touching, even though Trixie’s eyes are screwed tight shut. Her heart is hammering, since this is different because the _intent_ is different. Katya reaches up behind Trixie’s head to pull her down, to pull her closer, and for a second, it’s easy to forget about everything except kissing Katya, except Katya’s hands on her bare skin, except _Katya, Katya, Katya_. It’d be wrong to say time stops, because it doesn’t; instead, Trixie is hyperaware of every second, of every tiny movement, of the feeling of Katya’s hands in her hair and the taste of her lips.

“Congratulations,” Pearl drawls suddenly, clearly back again, and Trixie and Katya spring apart, although Trixie can still feel her neck tingling from where Katya has tugged her down. “I’m so glad that the pair of you got over yourselves. But now that you two are done pining, can we talk properly?”  
“Right,” Katya agrees, looking serious again. “Pearl told me everything she’s told you. And I agree, we need to find the body.”  
“Bianca said that usually the church pays for the funeral if the family can’t or won’t,” Trixie remembers. “But something tells me that that may not be strictly true for 50 years ago.”

Pearl nods sadly, flicking her sodden hair out of her eyes. Trixie’s so used to her dripping water everywhere that she’s desensitised to it, although Katya clearly isn’t, judging by her slight wince. “I might be in their records, though,” she suggests. “I was baptised and christened there. It’s a start.”  
“What year did you die, then?” Katya asks. Pearl’s face goes eerily blank, and Trixie feels a chill creeping up her spine.  
“I can’t remember,” Pearl confesses, her face swiftly returning to normal. “I’m sorry. The longer I stay, the more I forget. It was in the fifties, though. My last name started with an L.”  
“We can work with that,” Katya declares. “Right, Trixie?”  
“Right,” Trixie echoes, although she’s not so sure.

*

“Hey,” Katya whispers, tapping Trixie’s arm even though they’re already loosely holding hands. They’re in the public library, searching through public records under the guise of it being a school project, and have several thick tomes open in front of them. It’s probably the most that this library’s been used in years. “Langford, P., born 27th December 1945. Sex, female. Ethnicity, white. What do you think?”  
Trixie squints. “Maybe,” she shrugs. “I think she’s a few years too young, though. Have you checked the late thirties?”  
“I’m still in 1945,” Katya complains. “It’s hard to believe so many people were born here, considering how dead this place is now.”

It _is_ weird to think that way. Bramley Falls is the sort of place that Trixie has always assumed started small and stayed small, but apparently not. Once, there were people here who wanted to stay. It’s almost sad.  
“Her last name might not even begin with an L,” Trixie sighs. “We should’ve talked about this earlier.”  
“Earlier she didn’t want to return to wherever the hell she came from,” Katya points out, squeezing her hands. “We’ll find her body, Trix. I promise.”  
She kisses Trixie’s cheek in reassurance, and goes back to flicking through her set of records with one hand, a sea of information being easily parted. It’s humbling - to see the records of entire lives, entire families, condensed into tiny boxes of text, immortalised forever.

Bramley Falls is a small place, but Trixie feels smaller.

“We should tell Bianca,” Trixie suddenly says, and Katya blinks.  
“Huh?” she queries, and Trixie sighs.  
“About Pearl, I mean,” she clarifies. “I moved here only five years ago, and you were at boarding school until the year before high school. But Bianca’s family has been here for generations - we saw the records. Maybe it’d be easier with her help.”  
“She‘ll think we’re crazy,” Katya deadpans. “Listen, Bianca’s too straight-edge to ever believe this shit. You know that.”  
“Surely we can convince her somehow?” Trixie wonders. “Wait. The first time we saw Pearl was after we went to where she died. Maybe-“  
“We could show Bianca the well!” Katya catches on, beaming. Then her face falls. “But if we let Pearl haunt Bianca, we don’t know how either of them will react. Something tells me that Bianca’s gonna get real frustrated real fast.”  
“It’s worth a shot,” Trixie decides. “Not to be cliché, but we’re on unfamiliar territory. We don’t know what we’re messing with. I think we need all the help we can get.”

God, and she thought this summer was going to be _boring_.


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> next time, she’s making katya do the corpse-hunting recruitment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wow i’m alive? oh wow i didn’t change the chapter number? try not to be too shocked and/or aroused. the finale’s coming

“You better not be in a cult,” Bianca says by way of greeting, and Trixie winces at the other end of the phone line. What is she supposed to say, exactly? She wishes she’d written something down, but then her mom might find it, or worse - Pearl.

Pearl doesn’t know that they’re planning on showing Bianca the well, because there is neither the time nor mental energy available to deal with her reaction. Still, Trixie feels...guilty, almost. What they’re doing is kind of wrong, even if it’s going to help Pearl vastly in the long run.

“Uh, no,” Trixie finally replies, fiddling with her phone case anxiously. “You’re free tomorrow, right?”  
“Depends,” Bianca teases, and Trixie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I am. Why, are you avoiding someone?”  
 _Yes_ , Trixie thinks, _a ghost from the 50s whose place of death I need to show you_. But she doesn't say that. The ‘someone’ Bianca’s clearly referring to is Katya, because they haven’t exactly gotten around to telling anyone yet, and Trixie figures that this is an admission that would need both of them. “Not exactly,” she saysinstead, sliding the rings on her fingers up and down. “Look, Katya and I were planning on going hiking or something. You know, since the weather’s holding out. I was just wondering if you wanted to come. As a final ritual sort of thing.”  
“Well, sure,” Bianca frowns, her voice crackly on the other end of the line. “Is Adore coming?”

Right. Adore. Trixie loves Adore, but is it really worth pissing off Pearl even more for someone who probably won’t even be that helpful? Then again, perhaps Bianca won’t show up without Adore, and the plan will be ruined. Trixie has to come up with an answer, fast, and then justify it to both Katya and the ghost.

Next time, she’s making Katya do the corpse-hunting recruitment.

“Um, we weren’t sure if she’d want to do something like that, but if you want to bring her, that’s fine,” she rushes out, trying not to sound panicky. Hiking. To be fair, Adore had always skipped gym in high school - something about how she spent too much time making her hair artfully messy for it to actually become messy. Bianca knows that, right? Of course she does. God, this Pearl thing is beginning to turn her into an anxious mess, an honour that usually belongs exclusively to Katya.   
“Okay, cool,” Bianca hums. “Are we meeting up or carpooling?”  
“Me and Katya will pick you up at eleven,” Trixie says quickly. “I have to go. Bye!”  
“Bye-“ Bianca is cut off by Trixie hanging up as soon as humanly possible. Never again, she thinks, and heads back inside her house, where there is sure to be an angry ghost waiting.

*

“Rise and shine,” Katya yells, and Trixie pulls her comforter tighter over her head as she groans. She’s been up all night after telling Katya about Adore tagging along turned into a philosophical debate about the dead’s right to consent. Clearly, Katya can survive on four hours sleep, but Trixie can’t and won’t.  
“Why do I get the feeling of deja vu?” she mumbles, and Katya screams with laughter, ripping the comforter away from her.   
“Come on, sleeping beauty,” she grins devilishly. “Or do I have to pull a Prince Charming?”  
“Sleeping Beauty is, like, your least favourite disney movie,” Trixie mutters, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. “You said, and I quote, that you couldn’t believe that a hundred years had passed and that her parents weren’t dead.”  
“Changed my mind,” Katya announces airily, throwing a t-shirt at her to put on. It isn’t even pink, Trixie thinks with horror, but throws it on over the bra that she’d fallen asleep in obligingly. “You know, ever since I found my own Aurora.”  
“Your pick-up lines were better before you kissed me,” Trixie decides, and then she realises that the t-shirt Katya had passed her is one of her own, with some faded movie poster on it. “Gross, this shirt smells of cigarettes.”  
“You’re hallucinating,” Katya dismisses, and eyes her up appreciatively. “Looks good, though.”  
“You’re a pervert,” Trixie rolls her eyes, and is swiftly hit in the head by another item of clothing. A pink corduroy skirt, thank god, that Katya had picked up off her bedroom floor. It’s about then that Trixie notices: Pearl wasn’t here.  
“I told her to haunt my parents for a while,” Katya answers her unspoken question. “She’s having the time of her life sitting in the washing machine, even though she doesn’t know what the fuck it is.”  
“Living the dream,” Trixie remarks drily, wiggling into the skirt awkwardly. She must’ve lost weight - it was never this loose on her hips before. “I wish she’d do that in my house, instead of just watching me sleep all the time.”

Katya shrugs, blowing her bangs off her forehead. “She prefers you to me,” she explains. “Take it as a compliment.”

A compliment. Right.

“Doesn’t make it any less creepy,” Trixie points out, before tying her thick curls up into a messy bun at the top of her head. “Do I have time to do my makeup?”  
“Nope!” Katya grins cheerfully, and drags her downstairs, outside and into her car without so much as a cursory wave to Trixie’s mom. They speed off, and Trixie wrestles control of the aux cord.  
“Musicals, country music or lesbian anthems?” she asks, and Katya rolls her eyes, concentration fixated on the road ahead of her. “Either you pick one, or I play all three.”  
“There’s a country showtune about lesbians?” Katya winces, turning off onto Bianca’s street. “Uh, I choose lesbian anthems.”  
“Nice,” Trixie grins, and selects her playlist. Granted, most of the songs aren’t explicitly gay or by queer women, but subtext is her best friend, and her favourite genre is country, for god’s sake. She thinks she’s allowed a little leeway. Katya pulls up directly in front of Bianca’s house, and Trixie pauses the music.  
“I haven’t been here since she graduated,” Katya thinks aloud, not moving from her seat. “It still looks the same.”  
“Everything looks the same,” Trixie reminds her. “Nothing in this town ever changes, remember?”  
“Yeah,” Katya scowls, before shaking her head and honking the horn loudly. “Bianca!” she hollers, even though there’s no way that she’s in any way audible.

Bianca hurries out, wearing a college jersey and grey yoga pants. Trixie blinks in confusion - then remembers they’re meant to be going hiking. Still, it’s strange not to be seeing her older friend in the same long dress, and even stranger to see her with natural makeup.  
“Y’all are early,” she notes, throwing open the car door and sliding into the backseat. “I hope you’re planning on doing something before picking up Adore, she’ll still be in bed.”  
Bianca is right; it’s only ten-thirty, and Adore is most definitely not going to be ready. Clearly, however, Katya has planned for this, and she looks completely unbothered. “We have time for a quick detour, then,” she announces, and Trixie shoots her a look. This isn’t part of the plan. Katya ignores her blatant death-glares, and they drive off in near silence, Trixie frowning and Bianca clearly waiting for someone to speak first.

“Alright, I’m just gonna come out and say it,” Bianca decides, her voice scratchy. “This is weird, and you two are hiding something, and you’re going to tell me now before I go off for real.”  
“Well,” Katya begins, taking a horrifically sharp corner that makes Trixie close her eyes momentarily. “We’re going to show you a grave.”  
“Not what I was expecting, but alright,” Bianca snorts. “Any particular reason?”  
“Promise not to freak out,” Trixie speaks up. Although she’s a little upset that Katya had chosen to leave out Adore despite Trixie saying she could come, she knows that it’s probably the right decision. “And by freak out, I mean don’t jump out of the car.”  
“Oh, God,” Bianca mutters. “Does this have anything to do with that burial question you threw at me the other day?”  
“Yep,” Trixie winces. “Basically-“  
“There’s a ghost,” Katya interrupts matter-of-factly. “We need to find her body so she can stop haunting us, but there’s no way in hell we’re going to do that alone before school starts, so we’re showing you where she died so that you can see her and talk to her and help us help her.”

Bianca is quiet for a moment.

“Trixie,” she finally sighs. “You promised me she wasn’t on drugs.”  
“She’s not!” she protests. “Bianca, this ghost - her name’s Pearl - she sits in my bedroom and drips water everywhere and bitches about how boring I am. Honestly, Katya isn’t lying. She’s stuck here, and she’s just going to make life worse for all of us the longer she stays.”  
Bianca scrutinises her through the rearview mirror, and finally throws up her hands.  
“Whatever,” she concedes. “We’ll see. But actually, I was wondering if you two have actually gotten over yourselves and made out yet.”

Katya snorts.

“I guess you could say that,” she shrugs, and pulls up next to the well. Bianca opens her mouth to follow up further, but Katya shushes her.  
“Look into it,” she instructs. “This is where she died, you know. She jumped in, and they were so mortified that they dumped her body someplace.”  
“And you’re trying to figure out where,” Bianca murmurs. “I’ve heard of this story before. I guess I never actually thought it was true.”  
“Where do you think we’ll find her?” Trixie asks eagerly.

Bianca looks at them dead in the eyes.

“The woods.”


	7. finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> most people can’t see past life in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. the last chapter. this one’s pretty disjointed and vague, because it’s the way i write best. it’s meant to be sad. this story means a lot to me, and saying goodbye is bittersweet.
> 
> anyway.

“The woods,” Katya echoes. “Like, these woods?”  
“Yeah,” Bianca confirms. “I always heard that they laid her to rest behind one of the houses. I don’t know if it’s true.”

Frantically, they sprint over to each cottage, scouring the backyards in hope of finding something. Nothing. Until-  
“Oh my god,” Katya whispers. “Oh my _god_.”  
She’s crying, and Trixie sees the white flash of bone against concrete.  
“I found her,” Katya manages to yell. “Guys. This is it.”

It’s so odd. This is the body of Pearl, a ghost who Trixie almost believed wasn’t real. Her skeleton is curled up, the way she’d died, and her ribs and arms are clearly broken. This was a whole person’s life. This was a guilty secret, a family embarrassment. It is monumental. Trixie has seen dead bodies before, but something about this is different.

All three of them stand over her, almost reverent.

“Do you think,” Trixie bursts out, unable to help herself. “Do you think that she feels it, somewhere?”

Death is one of the only mysteries that mankind has made no further progress in solving. It takes everyone - man, woman, child. In its inevitability, there is a cruel kind of beauty. Trixie stares at that husk of a girl, and wonders how many more there were like this. People lost to time and to memory. People who had lived, once. Who had loved and been loved, once.

“I’d like to believe that she does,” Katya finally says, and they stay like that until the sun sets.

*

“We found you,” Trixie says, and Pearl spins around. She, too, is crying; her eyes eternally sad.  
“I touched the window,” she chokes out. “You found me, and I could touch the window. I was so nearly _alive_.”

Something in Trixie’s heart breaks

“We’re calling the Sheriff tomorrow,” she tells her. “They’ll arrange your funeral. You’ll be able to go back.”

Pearl nods. Trixie wants to say more - wants to hold her hand, wants to admit that she’ll miss her. But she doesn’t. They sit, side by side, on the edge of Trixie’s bed, and if both of them cry again, there is nobody there to see them and tell.

*

After the body is found, some other things are discovered about Pearl. Her last name was Liaison. She has one living relative, and he’d moved out of Bramley Falls a long time ago. “It’s lucky you found her,” the Sheriff says to them. “A big storm’s comin’, and she probably would’ve been all over the place.”

Bianca tells Adore. The pair of them spend the day in that very village, and when they came back, Adore is inconsolable. “Bianca showed me the well,” she sobs loudly. “And I swear, I’d never felt so alone when I looked down.”

Pearl spends her last few days back on earth in Trixie’s bedroom. They talk for hours on end. “In another life, I’d like to think we would’ve been best friends,” Pearl informs her, and Trixie has never felt so sad.  
“I think so too,” she replies, and when Pearl smiles, Trixie finds it even harder than ever to believe she’s dead. Yet Pearl does not want to remain with the living any longer, and that is her choice to make, so Trixie says nothing.

*

“It’s her funeral today,” Katya says quietly, and Trixie nods even though she knows Katya can’t see her over the phone. “She came over last night. To say goodbye. I think she knew.”  
“Do you-“ Trixie begins, but the words stick in her throat, and she has to start again. “Maybe we could’ve saved her. If we’d been there.”  
“Maybe,” Katya echoes, and she fidgets audibly. “I guess we’ll never know.”  
“Yeah,” Trixie sighs. She presses her head to the glass of her window, the way Pearl does. Everything is...different. Somehow, she feels older, although summer isn’t even halfway over.

She was lucky, she knows. What happened with Pearl and Katya and Bianca was nothing short of a miracle. Most people don’t see ghosts. Most people can’t see past life in the moment. Maybe she would’ve become one of those people. Somehow, though, she doubts it.

“You want me to pick you up?” Katya asks, and Trixie nearly laughs. They make an odd pair, but she likes it. She hopes that this is the last funeral they ever have to go to, though.  
“Yeah,” she answers, touching the window before standing up and brushing off her black cotton dress. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

*

Trixie watches casket lower into the ground. Someone begins to sing. And she feels it - a subtle breeze, almost like somebody brushing up against her. The faint smell of jasmine. The coffin drops, and it’s gone.

Pearl’s gone. Free.

Katya catches her eye, and she knows that she felt it too. But she doesn’t cry. She’s cried enough. Instead, Trixie tips her head up to the sky and lets the sun beat down on her face. She thinks of Pearl touching the window, of Adore grinning over her and Katya, of Bianca looking through racks of dresses. Thousands of memories flit through her head - Kim, before they drifted apart, her mom cooking pancakes, the gaggle of girls she used to hang around with until she moved to Bramley Falls, the life she had before this town. She is on the edge of being something, of being someone. _Get out of this place_. But she stands in this graveyard, surrounded by people she mostly knows, and she almost wishes Bramley Falls wasn’t so near dying. Once it was full of potential. Maybe it isn’t anymore, but she’d like to believe that the people still are.

“Hey,” Adore says, touching her elbow. “You alright?”  
“Even better,” Trixie responds, and finally looks back down. “I’m _hopeful_.”


End file.
